Just An Island
by SuperSixOne
Summary: Jack has questions. Who wouldn't? Trapped on the S.S. Venture, he knows not where the ship will take him to. EnglehornJack, if you squint real, real hard.


A/N: Just a short, near 2,000 word fic I came up with, originally meant to be a slash-fic. It didn't turn out quite as planned, so I changed it around. I'm coming up with a nice little Englehorn/Jack slash-fic, so keep an eye out, yad?

Disclaimer: Don't own a damn.

* * *

The night was cool, as it always seemed to be, and the air carried just the lightest amount of sea spray, as it always seemed to have. Englehorn was exhausted, but when the soft smell of the ocean wafted into his nostrils, all his worries seemed to disappear. He had stepped outside after asking Mister Hayes to take the controls, and was leaning against the rusty railing of his beloved ship on the starboard side closest to the bow, about where Mister Denham had been filming Miss Darrow earlier in the day. He had been watching it all from the controls, and though Miss Darrow was a beautiful woman, it was the sunset he had been truly captivated by. The simple beauty of a sunset was a luxury that not many in large metropolises such as New York City had a chance to experience. A luxury that one could only experience from the tallest tower above it all. Above all the crime. Above all the sorrow. And the greed and the poverty. The rich and the poor. The heartbreak. And while some could escape it from the tallest tower, all Englehorn had to do to escape it all was walk out to the bow and shut his eyes against it all. All he had to do was concentrate on the sound of the waves lick up against the S.S. Venture and everything else would melt into oblivion. Crossing his arms on the railing, he leaned over the side, opening his eyes. The waxing moon glimmered off the dark waters so serenely. The calmness astounded him in the same way the sunset had.

"Is it not strange that something so beautiful is also deadly?" a soft voice drifted on the breeze.

"I suppose so, Mister Driscoll," Englehorn replied, not at all surprised as he continued to stare down into the depths.

"Good evening Captain," Driscoll answered and leaned against the railing as well, though, with his back to the ocean.

"I hope your sleeping accommodations are not as bothersome as they appear," Englehorn said, remembering he was staying in the cages.

"No," Driscoll let out a small, but good-natured chuckle. "I've gotten used to the smell. It reminds me of my father."

"I see," Englehorn felt his lips tug upwards into a smile. "How is your script coming along, Mister Driscoll?"

"Let's just say, I'm having a serious lack of inspiration," he sighed and arched backwards, gazing up at the sky.

"Well," Englehorn said and straightened up to finally look at the man standing next to him, finding that his eyes were fixated on the stars. "I am positive when I say that where we're going, you'll definitely find inspiration."

"What, Singapore?" Driscoll said, sounding a bit amused. "I highly doubt it. I'd find more inspiration in Tortuga."

"I've been to Tortuga and the only thing you'd find there are large amounts of alcohol and hundreds of scantily clad women looking for a bed," Englehorn said.

"There's no such place as Tortuga," Driscoll laughed. "That's just a ridiculous story parents tell their kids to discourage them into taking up a career in piracy."

"Just because an island isn't on the map, it doesn't mean it's not there, Mister Driscoll," he said seriously before searching through his coat pockets for a cigarette.

"I'm not convinced," Driscoll said, watching his every move.

"I am not trying to convince you," Englehorn said and pulled out his book of matches and two cigarettes. "Smoke?"

"No thank you," he turned it down politely.

Englehorn slipped the extra cigarette into a coat pocket and lit the other one up, placing it in his mouth. "How is Miss Darrow faring with the sea life?"

"She's adjusted by now…" Driscoll stated, though a bit hesitantly. "I think she likes it here."

"That's good, seeing Mister Denham practically forced her on the boat."

"How long have you been the captain of this ship?" Driscoll asked, suddenly changing the subject.

"Eleven years, Mister Driscoll. Eleven long, long years," Englehorn answered, not missing a beat.

"Please, call me Jack," Driscoll sighed.

"Alright, Jack," Englehorn said before adding, "Call me Captain."

"That can't possibly be your first name…" Driscoll said, sounding more oblivious than he probably meant to.

"You're right, Jack. It isn't," Englehorn laughed a short, dry laugh before taking the last possible drag out of his cigarette. Tossing it to the ground, he stamped the butt out with the heel of his boot. "My parents didn't give me a first name."

"You can't be serious."

"Of course I'm not. Call me Englehorn, yeah?" he said with a small grin threatening to spread across his face. "Why don't you and I steal a bottle of Mister Denham's poison? I am sure that he stole it himself."

"I don't think I should drink," Driscoll said tentatively.

"Alright, friend. Good rest," Englehorn shrugged and gave Driscoll a short pat on the back before brushing past.

* * *

It was late now and Englehorn sat alone on the metal steps leading up to the small freight carrier deck. The S.S. Venture's crew was either tucked away in their cozy cots or hammocks or drinking somberly at the galley's worn wooden tables, thinking of better days. Thinking of families. Thinking of the days before the depression. But unlike some of the men silently drinking themselves to a stupor below deck, Englehorn knew no other life than the life at sea, so while he drank, he drank for the agony of the dream. The dream that someday he would become something else. Something more. Something respected. Something longed. The dream that someday he would be a part of something grand. Maybe, one day, he could be a part of history. But as long as Englehorn was on Denham's wild goose chase to find an island of which he and most of his crew believed was simply not there, getting his name written in the books was a goal unlikely to be accomplished. Down goes the dream. Up goes the bottle.

"Cheers," Englehorn muttered to himself before taking a long swig of his stolen liquor. It burned his throat as it slid like velvet to his stomach.

"Cheers," Driscoll's voice echoed his own as the man sat down next to him, holding out a tin mug. "To the voyage?"

"To the safety of my crew," Englehorn replied and held out his bottle in the near darkness. "And to yours."

"Yea," Driscoll agreed, their own respectable beverages clinked together.

After a few moments of silence, Englehorn spoke up against the quietness of the night. "Didn't think you'd be back out here, Jack."

"I went down to my ca-room…" Jack stuttered and Englehorn could feel his embarrassment from his spot on the metal steps. "Well, I tried typing, but I couldn't. And then Carl paid me a visit."

"Ah, is that so?" Englehorn asked, a bit of amusement creeping into his voice.

"He talked for two hours. I could barely get a word in. It was as if he was only having a one-sided conversation," Driscoll sighed and took a sip out of whatever was in his tin mug.

"Sounds like Mister Denham. I can only imagine what he was speaking about."

"Singapore. He kept babbling about Singapore. About what an amazing and exhilarating journey it's going to be. On and on and on," he emphasized his words with his free hand.

"Again, that sounds like Mister Denham," Englehorn repeated and took another long drink from his bottle. Having drunk half the whiskey, he was beginning to feel a bit fuzzy around the edges.

"Always adventure for Carl. And the way he's talking about it, I can't help but feel that maybe Singapore is not the only place we're going on the trip," Driscoll said, curiosity and question lacing his American accent.

Englehorn felt his stomach flop a bit and it wasn't from the alcohol he was downing. It was instead from Driscoll's seemingly knowing tone. Staring straight ahead, he felt the younger man's eyes fixed on him, which in turn certainly made him uncomfortable. But even so, he didn't speak. Driscoll did.

"We're not going to Singapore, are we?" he asked softly, surely.

Englehorn stared down the neck of his bottle, swishing the dark liquid around mindlessly. He simply didn't know how to answer.

"Captain, I asked you a question," Driscoll hissed sharply, setting his mug down roughly on the metal steps.

"I am paid…" Englehorn was struggling to find words.

"Yes?" Driscoll pushed along a bit further, his voice more scrutinizing by the minute.

"I am paid to do as I'm told. I get the money and then I'll steer the ship wherever I'm directed. That's my job, Jack, and I do it well."

Englehorn threw back his head and downed the rest of the alcohol. Setting the bottle on the steps, he stood up rather quickly and the effects of drinking a full bottle of whiskey overtook him. He grabbed onto the railing as his head swam fiercely, waiting for the feeling to pass.

"Where are you taking us?" Jack asked edgily, his eyes flashing dangerously.

"I--," Englehorn found he couldn't speak as he saw the flaming glint in the playwright's eyes.

Jack leaped up and had Englehorn pinned against the ship's wall in a mere second. He spoke maliciously, his hot breath tickling Englehorn face with the scent of mint and orange. "Where…are…we…going?"

Englehorn's reflexes might have been slowed in his alcohol intake, but he consciously knew not to slip up. Not to a man who would pull a hero-move and take the crew into a mutiny. Not to a man who could currently throw him overboard, though he doubted he would. "It is not my place to say."

"Of course it is. You're the goddamned captain of this ship," Jack snarled and threw him to the side, making Englehorn stumble a bit before falling back against the wall.

(_don't let him get to you don't let him get to you don't let him get to you)_

"We are going after an island that is not on the map," Englehorn spat out angrily and pulled himself to his feet, pushing a fist into the man's chest.

"What?" Jack's furious demeanor shrunk away.

"You heard me. We're chasing after an island that's not plotted on the map. An island that is a made up sailor's tale. A legend, a myth," Englehorn fumbled through his pockets for another smoke.

"Wonderful, this is just wonderful!" Jack said sarcastically and grabbed the railings tightly, his knuckles turning white. "So we're following a treasure map."

"Pretty much," Englehorn shrugged, remorse slowly dripping into his mind at his slip-up. "You want that cigarette now?"

"Yes," Jack said heavily and took the cigarette gingerly from his hand as Englehorn lit it up for him. "Whose map? Whose map is it?"

"Mister Denham's," Englehorn said truthfully.

Jack sighed and bent over at his waist, his head resting on his extended forearms. "This has bad news written all over it, Englehorn. There's nothing out here."

"Jack, just because an island isn't on the map…" Englehorn said carefully as Jack looked up at him, the moon reflecting in his eyes.

"Doesn't mean it's not there, I know," Jack finished his sentence and took a short drag from his smoke.

"Yes," Englehorn agreed and they stood in silence, but it was a strained silence.

Jack shivered and threw his half-finished cigarette down, stepping it out. "I'm getting cold. Good night."

"Good night," Englehorn answered, his eyes following his every move.

"And don't worry. I won't tell a soul," Jack said.

Jack walked off the bow and down the starboard side, out of Englehorn's sight. Englehorn threw his smoke into the calm ocean waters, just able to make out the cigarette's form in the moonlight as it floated slowly away. His whisper was almost inaudible, but Jack heard clearly, as if the captain were speaking right into his ear.

"Some islands, Mister Driscoll, don't belong on a map."

* * *

_Reviews, as always, are appreciated. Feel free to flame._


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